Lyanna thought that if her husband were not a king he would have locked himself in his sister's chambers and had his way with her from dawn through dusk. He had duties however, responsibilities to the realm, but Lyanna suspected that it had as much to do with his pride as anything else, his desire to always be seen as the mighty and beloved Dragon Prince, the one the realm had loved in his youth, not a lustful man, hands reaching and clawing at his pretty young wife, younger even than his daughter. As beautiful as Daenerys had grown to be, Lyanna still half-expected her nursemaid to trail after her as she had in Dragonstone. Rhaegar had recently passed his fortieth nameday and while he may have looked like a man still in his thirties, that façade was harder to maintain when he stood by his young bride.

Doubtless, Rhaegar was aware of this as well. He treated his new bride with a cool courtesy at court but Lyanna could see the small touches, a hand on her arm as though to steady her when she descended down a step but that lingered too long, a kiss on her cheek that appeared to taste of more than duty. When the court gathered again a week after the wedding for the coronation, Rhaegar had looked as though he might devour the princess whole when she rose with the crown on her head, looking every bit the Targaryen queen he must have longed after in his youth, when he had to make do instead with women of lesser blood.

Elia may have suspected it, for who knew Rhaegar better than her, but Lyanna was sure she was the only one who could see it, the naked hunger of it all. He had looked at her the same had he not, all those years ago when he had first found her, named her wife and taken her to that tower. It disgusted her to think of it now, how ravenous she was for him, how for all the times he reached out for her she reached out for him twofold. He had opened something within her then, something that was stronger than any shame she might have had, any taught notions of the proper way a wife should let her husband behave in their bedchamber. He felt it too, she knew, or else he would have stopped making love to her once it was clear she was with child. Instead, he taught her the other ways in which a man and a woman might pleasure each other when she had grown too big to comfortably take him inside her, with hands and lips and tongues and breasts.

Lyanna vowed she would never let him touch her again once she found out the fates of her brother and father but she had been too weak, had let him into her bed again and again, grateful for the warmth of him, even as she hated herself after, even as she scrubbed at her skin in the bath until she drew blood and still did not feel clean. They both knew no child would come of it, the maesters in King's Landing having examined her and judged she would never bear another child, and yet Rhaegar sought comfort in her body, those dark days when he began to question his prophecy once again, question his purpose. Elia's pain was too raw then and all of King's Landing knew of how she had barred her door to him, her brothers having arrived in court with the lords and ladies of the most powerful Dornish houses, as vocal a threat as they dared to make after the men they had lost on the Trident.

She offered him no comfort, no consolation, learned instead to use his body as he used her, wringing out her own pleasure from him, pushing him away when she had found her end and could not stand the feel of his skin against hers. He would look so glum after, a sulking child that had been refused something for the first time, did not withstand it for long, soon pulled himself away from her entirely and stopped demanding his rights. In the end, it pleased her to think the warrior who had struck the usurper down on the Trident, with the blood of Aegon the Conqueror coursing through his veins, a god as much as man, had been brought down by the scorn of a woman.

Lyanna watched it all from afar, as she had learned to do those many long years in King's Landing. On the night of the coronation they were to feast in Rhaegar's rooms, and Lyanna obliged his invitation, both for Jon's sake and her own, to see how her always ingenious husband had arranged it all. The politics of the dinner table, she had called it when Jon was a young boy learning court etiquette, the considerations of placing a lord to his left or two his right, too close or too distant, the grievances and implications that came with that.

Rhaegar arranged for them to sit at a round table, a rather inventive solution. It was ordered by birth and marriage order. To his right sat Elia and to his left Rhaenys, Lyanna beside Elia on her other side and Aegon beside his sister, Jon placed beside his brother and Daenerys next to Lyanna. It was a diplomatic solution; Aegon and Rhaenys could converse among each other, as could Rhaegar and Elia, who was the seat of honor as was her due as a first wife, leaving Lyanna, Dany, and Jon to their own company.

She gave her attention to the food that had been served and let them be as she had in Dragonstone, listening absentmindedly to their conversation of this and that lord of the Claw Isle who Jon remembered, filling in the years they had been apart from each other. Dany was always a gentle girl, Lyanna remembered, though sometimes too domineering of Jon in their games but her son had not seemed to mind, though now it was Jon who spoke more, telling her of the sights he had seen on his recent trip to the Westerlands. Aegon was pulled into the conversation then as well, adding his own remarks and memories.

Lyanna scanned her eyes around the room, noticing another benefit of Rhaegar's arrangement as Rhaenys and Elia talked across the table to each other. From his seat he could look directly at his young bride, watch as she talked to his sons. Lyanna was surprised the table had not risen, and laughed openly at the thought.

Rhaegar's eyes snapped to her immediately, giving her a scolding look before turning pointedly to speak to his daughter.

"Pray tell, what is it that amuses you so?" Elia asked, "We could all use some laughter."

Elia had seen it too though, she could tell, from the lines in her jaw, the tension in her body. Lyanna was grateful in that moment that she had learned apathy years ago.

"It is only that I am pleased to be with my family," She replied with a smile.

The Red Keep was not only smaller than Winterfell but the lands around it were heaving with people, a far cry from the open fields and moors she had grown used to in her youth. It left her with far fewer opportunities to ride, so much so that over the years she felt the muscles in her thighs and stomach turn soft. It was not until Jon was old enough to learn to ride that Lyanna got on a horse again, was able to once again lose herself in the speed of it all, lose hours exploring and racing, lose memories in it. Jon took to it as well as she had at his age though part of her suspected that he did not ride so much for his own pleasure but rather did so knowing that if he did not take her, she would not be able to go.

It was too much of a risk, Rhaegar had told her, and he could not spare two of his Kingsguard for hours each day while she ventured into the Kingswood. It was different, however, when it was a crown prince, one who was encouraged to ride and hunt and hawk as all highborn men were. Rhaegar could not refuse his son.

Jon set a leisurely pace, likely for the sake of their guards today, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jonothor Darry, neither of who were young men nor very able riders. It pleased her that her son had grown into a man so thoughtful, even as she itched to race.

They stopped at a clearing in the woods, resting in the grass and unpacking the food they had packed in their saddles, Ser Barristan and Ser Jonothor circling at a distance.

"Aegon says father may allow him to visit Braavos after his nameday," Jon said, breaking the silence as Lyanna cut into an apple, "I think he may let me travel as well, he could not refuse me if he allows Aegon."

Her son had grown restless lately, a thought that worried her. Restless princes, particularly second sons, had a limited number of paths. One was service to the realm, the Citadel or the Kingsguard of the Wall. The other was marriage and service of a different sort, that of providing heirs. Both would mean the loss of her son.

"Where would you like to go this time?" She asked instead, laying the apple slices in a handkerchief and handing them to him.

He smiled gingerly, at the age where he was embarrassed to be mothered, but took it nonetheless.

"I know I cannot go far, not if Aegon is to go to Essos," He mused, lying on his back in the grass, "I thought maybe Dragonstone. Aegon has given up his rights to it and it would be good to return if I am to make it my home someday. Dany could come to," and turning his face towards her, "And you too, mother, just like it was."

Lyanna could finally return his smile then.

She was not unhappy there, truth be told. It had been her sanctuary when things had grown too difficult with Rhaegar. She could bear King's Landing for Jon, bear anything for him, but not his own father's ineptness. He loved him, that she knew and could not doubt, even in her darkest moments with Rhaegar, but he had not planned for a second son and could not figure out a place for him. Aegon was the Prince that was Promised, trained for it since he was born, and though Jon trailed after him he was kept out of his lessons, out of the training yard. She could not think of a worst fate for her son than to be raised thinking he was less than a brother because of a mere matter of birth.

Their trip to Dragonstone was only meant to last half a year but Jon was happy there. She could shield him from the difficulties of her marriage and for all that he missed his father, his brother and his sister, it was doubtless thrilling for a child that was always second best to be the sole focus of attention. And with Dany he was, a lonely child herself, with love to give and nobody to give it to. Lyanna had walked in on them playing in Viserys' old rooms before he had been sent to Dorne to find Dany dressing in Jon in her brother's old clothes, crown and all. It had been a sweet sight.

How strange to think now that that little girl who used to trip on her own gowns was now warming her husband's bed.

"It was sweet to see her again, was it not?" Lyanna asked, resisting the urge to wipe a smudge of dirt from her son's face.

Jon's smile grew, "She has not changed much, although she's not as bossy as she used to be." He was quiet for a beat and then, "It's a horrible custom, truly."

"What is?"

He finally turned to face her then, sitting up on his elbow, with a look on his face that reminded Lyanna so much of Ned when he was thinking something through and did not know how to phrase it.

"I know that kings are not like other men," He explained, slowly as though he were still picking his words, "But I think the Faith have the right of it. How is a man to be a good husband if he has more than one wife? It is like being ripped apart threefold."

And what of the woman, she wanted to add, in how many ways is she ripped apart?

When she was a child, the nights were Dany's preferred part of the day. She would be read a story before bedtime and when Viserys was at Dragonstone, sometimes he would recite it himself, and she could inhabit a dreamland of her choosing, journey to the ends of the world, meet whomever she wished, and awaken to find herself in her bed again. It was no different when she was married, except now she could live her dreams while awake.

Each night, Rhaegar would come to her and she would undress him slowly all the while he asked after her day, before he would join her in bed. She did not do much with her days in truth; while Elia and Lyanna both often had harried days, either joining their husband as he held court or meeting with Lord Connington to discuss matters related to the upkeep of the household, Dany had not been given the same duties. Rhaegar explained to her that she could not let her energy be spent on anything but ensuring that she comes to be with child and that the child is safe and healthy.

She was allowed no strenuous activity. When Jon invited her to ride around the city with her in order to learn its streets and its people, she had yearned to say yes but was made to politely decline, spending her day in her rooms instead with nothing but a handful of ladies and a musician from Essos to pass the time. Aegon visited her from time to time and though he was less quiet and reserved than he had been when Dany first arrived at the capital, he was harried, busy with the duties of an heir. Rhaenys had much of his temperament but Dany had been surprised to learn she spent most of her days in the training yard with her brothers. She could not imagine the princess, beautiful and gracious as she was, swinging a sword or shooting an arrow. Instead, Dany's days revolved around maesters consequently, coming to visit her each morning to check after her health and though every day they told Rhaegar as delicately as they could that it was too soon, they would be back again.

It offended her, though she knew she had no right to feel affronted. A queen could endure things that would break other women, she had been taught, and must do so for the good of her king and the realm. And yet, to wake every morning and to feel the hands of a strange man on her body, to spread her legs so she might be examined and scrutinized like some animal, left a throbbing inside her chest, an angry itch under her skin that would not go away no matter how hard she tried to calm herself. Rhaegar's presence in the room during her inspections comforted her at first, but after enduring a week of it she found herself looking at him, wishing he would put a stop to it, unable to keep the disappointment at bay when he inevitably did nothing.

It had become unbearable to her, become difficult to hold her tongue after over a moon's turn of the maesters' attentions. The gods answered her prayers however, when the maester turned to face Rhaegar not with his usual expression, arms raised as though there was nothing he could do, but rather a smile.

"It is in the early days yet, your grace," He explained, "But there is nothing to indicate that the queen will not carry the child to term."

It had been so sweet then, her husband sending the maester away before wrapping her up in her arms, bringing her onto his lap and layering kisses into her hair, his hand on her still flat stomach.

"I dreamed of our child," He murmured, and Dany had laughed, delirious with joy, "She will the most beautiful princess the world has seen. I have men across the realm searching for Dark Sister. When it is found, it will be hers."

Dany had been surprised by that but his bliss was plainly writ on his face that she did not want to ruin it.

"And what if it is a son?" She asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

He grabbed her hand then, the one that had been running across his chest and neck, holding it tightly, his eyes fixed on her face. His look was dark, not the burning looks he gave her when he found her in her bed, her body eager and soft, but an expression that was altogether different, one she had not seen before.

"It must be a girl," and though his voice was no more than a whisper she could see that it pained him to see it, "It will be, the gods cannot be so cruel."

Dany could not say anything, she knew, Rhaegar had told her that there would be things she could not understand, that she was too young yet to learn of. It would have frightened her had she not trusted him so, had the look on his face been so distressed, left her wanting only to comfort him.

"I will give you a daughter," She promised.

They celebrated the young queen's pregnancy in private though it had been announced to the court, presents for the babe already arriving in the capital from all across the Seven Kingdoms. So few knew of Rhaegar's plans that it would not have done to herald the child's conception as anything more than the birth of a fourth royal child. The realm was not ready, Rhaegar decided, to learn of its destiny and the role his children would have in its salvation. Elia agreed; the memory of the Mad King was fresh yet and it would not do for her husband's hold on the kingdoms to falter now, not when her children would pay the price of it.

Some of it was hope as well. Hope that he would see reason, that he would remember the blood that had been spilled and realize that his path had only led to folly. There had been a time after Lyanna's arrival in the capital that Elia believed, foolishly she knew now, that her husband had put aside his fantasies. He had grown more at peace after the birth of his young son, resembled something of the young man who had courted her in their youth. It lasted merely a few moons before he returned to his solar and his books, and fixed his eyes on Dragonstone.

His daughter had not even come into the world yet, Elia reassured herself, and it would be many years until she left her mother's skirts, much less was able to be the Visenya he sought. There was time yet.

Her husband, as always, was willing to provide other, more pressing matters for her to fret over.

Elia could read the surprise on her husband's face when she called on him in his solar with Lyanna at her side. They had reached a tepid coexistence years ago (how can I loathe someone more than they do themself, Elia had told Oberyn years ago but it was more than that, became easier to tolerate her presence when it was clear the younger woman had no interest in being her rival in any terms, whether it came to her status at court or their husband's affections) but spent most of their time apart, coming together only when it concerned the children or Rhaegar himself.

Rhaegar had made a show of hospitality, offering his wives food and refreshment, ordering his cupbearers out of the room when they declined.

Lyanna seemed as though she wanted to speak first but Elia stepped in, sure she could put it more diplomatically.

"Husband, you have no given us the pleasure of your company for many moons now," She remarked, watching his face carefully, "The gods have blessed Daenerys with a healthy child in her womb, surely we can return to our prior arrangement."

For Lyanna, it was for her son, so that he would not see his mother treated as something less than Elia and come to think of himself as less than his brother. She had not lain with Rhaegar in years, Elia knew, but the court did not. Elia could not begrudge her that; it was wise for Aegon's sake as well, so no man might come between the brothers with whispers of where the king's true favor lay.

For Elia, it was so much more. It was for her children and the counsel he asked of her but for herself too, for the husband who had been hers the longest, the one who had loved her first.

To her surprise, Rhaegar seemed embarrassed, if only for a moment before his mask of cool courtesy returned.

"She's young yet," He replied, "And pregnancy is no easy thing, as you both know. It comforts her to have me with her in the nights when the mother's stomach keeps her awake."

Lyanna reddened at that. Who was her comfort when she lay alone in that tower, Elia wondered, when she brought her child into a world with her kin dead and slaughtered?

Lyanna spoke up, "It is a trying time for a woman indeed and yet we must put our duty ahead of our pleasure, as you have taught us."

He would have flinched at the word "pleasure" had he been a lesser man. It struck him to his core, Elia could see, the implication of another word, lecher, which his kingly pride could not bear.

"As you wish," He conceded, turning back to his desk as though they were no longer in the room, already wishing them away.

It would be an easy birth, the maester told her, when he had bent down to examine her, touched her with cold fingers and remarked that she was opening up "nicely" for the babe. Dany had wanted to kick at him, to order him away, the pain coursing through her body coming in ever growing waves, but Rhaegar was still in the room, his hand in hers, and she would endure for him.

"Will you stay?" She asked, when the maids began filing into the room, to her fear and surprise, carrying pots of hot water.

Rhaegar kissed her but she could find no pleasure in it, not now.

"If only I could," He replied, and though he tried to smile it did not reach his eyes, "A husband's place is not in the birthing bed."

You are the king, she wanted to say, you may do as you wish, but all she could do was scream as another wave of pain wracked her body. Rhaegar's brow furrowed and he kissed her once more, whispered something in her ear and then he was gone, leaving her to a room of strangers.

She could not tell how long it lasted, whether it had been days or weeks that she shrieked and cried and clawed at the sheets, the maester telling her to push at times and then allowing her to rest, the maids pressing cool cloths to her head and forcing her to drink lemon water that she struggled to keep down. It was not possible, not right for it to pain her so much, she thought with whatever wits she had left, and she had tried to warn the maester he only told her she was close now, nearly at the end of it.

He must have said that ten times or more and she began to fear it would never end, the babe would not come and she would be trapped in this bed forever, bringing life to something and wishing for death all at the same time. She screamed for the mother she had never met, screamed for Viserys and Rhaegar, and though he did not come his child did, slipping out of her body and filling the room with its own cries to add to hers.

Elia had told her that the pain of childbirth was forgotten as soon as the mother looked at her babe and Dany found it was true when the maid pressed the screaming bundle into her hands, when she clumsily wrapped herself around it, looking at its small face, eyes still not open, a tuft of silver hair on its head.

"I will go tell the king," The maester said, washing his bloody hands in a basin and turning to leave.

"Is it a girl?" Dany asked, though she held the babe in her hands, delirious from pain and joy and the consuming ache in her body.

The maester shook his head, smiling, "A boy, your grace, a healthy boy."